The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street. Rachel Dove
Another phone started up again, his office phone, and he tutted crossly.
‘I gotta go, okay? See you later.’
She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could even form the words, she heard the click of the line. He had gone, back to work. She looked at her phone, willing him to ring back. To have picked up on her tone and guessed that something was off. But she knew in her heart that he wouldn’t. He had stopped noticing things long ago. Her wallpaper came up on the screen, a picture of her and Xander together, smiling in the Lego shop. She remembered the day. Another bad day at school, another day of her son coming out of the school doors and running into her arms, crying. Kids were rotten, and some parents were no better. She had wrapped him in her arms and strode out of the wrought iron gates, mentally sticking a finger up at the judgemental mum set that watched them leave. She had gotten him straight into town, to the Lego shop that he loved so much, and they had sat there, at the activity table, till her son dried his tears and started to be himself again. One of the shop assistants had offered to take a photo, after her attempts at a selfie had resulted in either missing the model or chopping their heads off. The photo came out well, and it had turned into a good day. A day of hot chocolate in the coffee shop, of Lego models and little smiles. Another day where his dad had not been able to get out of work, or even taken a minute to give him a call.
She looked again at her sleeping son and brushed a tear away. Today was going to be one of those days, where it would end better than it began. She turned her phone over, took out the SIM Card from the back and snapped it in half. Just looking down at the pieces of plastic and metal made her feel better. She brushed them into her pocket, and settled back down to read her book. At least in the pages of this story, there would be a happy ever after. She never noticed the man across watching her with interest, and a flexed jaw.
Marlene stood on the train platform, shuffling from foot to foot, checking her watch and then checking it again when she realised she hadn’t even registered the time. Dot and Grace were sitting on the metal bench nearby; Grace knitting away, Dot tapping on her phone.
‘It’s late. What if she never got on it?’
Grace didn’t look up, swapping needles over in her arms and flicking the multicoloured wool in her bag to allow more of it to escape.
‘She got on it. The trains are always bloody late, calm down. You’ll have no shoe leather left. You’ll look like a knackered old tyre by the time you’re done.’
‘I’m worried! I can’t help it. Dot, what time do you make it?’
Dot looked at the platform clock and checked her own watch. ‘Eleven twenty-seven, dear. My clock is still the same as yours.’
‘And every other bloody clock in the land,’ Grace griped. ‘We share time you know, it won’t pass any quicker looking at the blasted thing.’
‘Oh shut up, Grace, go back to your knitting!’ Marlene snapped. ‘Why did you even come if you aren’t going to be helpful?’
Grace’s needles clacked away, and she let out a little sigh.
‘I came to support you, and to stop you getting arrested by station security. You look like a bloody nutter, running a track into the platform. She’ll be here when she’s here, same as the rest of the train. It’s an eighteen-minute delay, not the end of time for God’s sake!’
Marlene glared at Grace, and her friend eyeballed her from the top of her glasses, shoving her middle finger up the bridge of her nose pointedly and returning it to her knitting. Marlene gasped, and Dot groaned.
‘Up yours eh!? Well, the same to you, Grace. Dot, tell her!’
‘Dot, tell her!’ Grace mimicked, her needles picking up speed with her fury. ‘You need to chill out. That poor girl is going to get off that train and jump straight back on it looking at you. Knock it off!’
‘Oh shut your face!’ Marlene boomed, startling a man walking out onto the platform.
‘Shut both your faces!’ Dot screeched, standing and pushing Marlene into the seat she had vacated. Grace and Marlene hissed at each other and had a mini elbowing fight, Grace being the victor by jabbing her knitting needle into Marlene’s thigh.
‘Oww! Bugger off!’ Marlene shouted, trying to grapple the needle away from her. Her hand caught in the strand of wool, and started to unravel the stitching.
Grace growled furiously, slapping Marlene’s hand, making her reel back with a startled yip.
‘Watch my blessed knitting, you ham-fisted old tart!’
Dot ran to the pair, pushing her hands in between them.
‘Ladies, for chuff’s sake, pack it in!’
Bing bong. The Tannoy sprang to life, stopping the sparring ladies in their tracks.
‘The delayed train from London King’s Cross is now arriving on Platform 2. Can all passengers please stand well back.’
Dot sagged with relief.
‘Thank Christ for that.’
Marlene and Grace both jumped up, ready to greet the newcomers.
The train trundled to a stop on the platform, and the doors swished open.
‘Can you see her?’ Grace asked, putting her arm around Marlene, their fight long forgotten.
‘No, you?’
Grace peered into the carriages as they moved along the platform, but the windows were tinted, making it difficult. A train employee stepped out, paddle in hand, and then the commuters started to disembark.
‘Dot, you see anything?’
Dot stood open-jawed next to them, looking at something a little way down the train. She nudged Grace, who followed her gaze. Marlene was still looking frantically, Grace pulling on her arm.
‘What Grace, give up? What?’
Grace tutted and, reaching across, she grabbed Marlene by the jaw and showed her what they were looking at.
Down the platform, just getting off the train, was a man. Well, they assumed it was a man, not a mirage, but, sometimes, it was hard to tell the difference. Grace dropped her needles and they clattered to the floor with a metallic tinkle.
‘What, I ask you, is that?’ she asked, licking her lips slowly.
Dot shook her head slowly, her eyes out on stalks. ‘I don’t know, but I want one.’
Marlene, slack-jawed, babbled twice before muttering, ‘It’s Bruce Willis, I tell you. Or that other guy, the Statham guy, what’s he called?’
Grace giggled. ‘Who cares what he’s called, where did he come from?’
The three women watched as the man put down a suitcase and oversized holdall, and swept back onto the train, dipping his head as he walked back through the doors. A minute later, dressed in a long coat and jeans, he stepped back down off the train, more luggage in hand. A woman and a small boy followed, the woman taking the bag from him.
‘Figures,’ Dot whined. ‘A man like that, had to be taken.’
‘Lucky cow,’ Grace moaned, looking down at her forgotten knitting. ‘Bollocks, I dropped my jumper.’
She bent to pick it up, and Marlene practically leap-frogged over her.
‘It’s Lucy! She’s here!’
Marlene half ran, half trotted like a pony, over to the trio, and patted the woman excitedly on the shoulder.
‘Lucy dear, is it you?’
Lucy turned around and smiled broadly, throwing one of her arms